The Morgan² Update

To cut down on any confusion:

Morgan Taylor is mom.

Morgan Jordan (aka Mojo) is baby.

This is the update you’ve all been patiently waiting for—so buckle up, baby, and let me fill you in.

I’m going to jump from the unplanned hospital stay straight to delivery day. A lot happened in those three months, but for now, we’re focusing on the juicy details.

October 28th—Morgan’s due date—passed by with no baby, and not even a hint that he was on his way. In the two weeks leading up, we were doing all the things: daily walks (twice a day), curb walking, squatting, stretching—anything that might encourage some downward movement from our little guy.

What we didn’t yet know was that Morgan Jordan (Mojo) would take after his mother in true procrastination fashion.

We arrived at the hospital early the morning of the 28th for Morgan’s routine appointment, all extremities crossed, hoping to hear those magical words: “You’re dilated x amount.” 

That is not how it went.

Instead, we hit a few complications. That appointment turned into further testing, which turned into an unplanned hospital stay. It was determined that Mojo would be making his appearance within the next 48 hours.

We texted our people, grabbed our packed bags (we fully looked like we were moving in), and headed to the MIC. Over the next few hours, things progressed slowly… until they didn’t.

But first—let me back up.

Prior to this, Morgan (momma) had decided she wanted to attempt labor without an epidural. This wasn’t a hard-and-fast decision, but one rooted in her past experiences. Morgan has broken multiple bones over the years and somehow never shed a tear. Based on this superhuman pain tolerance, she planned to hold off on the epidural until the very last possible moment—if she even wanted it at all.

Well.

That moment arrived rather quickly once the real contractions kicked in.

She looked at me and calmly—but very clearly—told me to get the anesthesiologist ASAP.

And honestly? Watching her make that call was one of the most powerful moments of the entire experience. Morgan is the kind of woman who pushes through pain, who “sallies forth,” who puts her needs last without a second thought. Seeing her set her pride aside and accept help was its own kind of strength—and it was beautiful to witness.

Once the epidural was administered, the shift was almost immediate. She relaxed. She breathed. From my perspective, she was actually able to enjoy parts of the delivery process.

That’s when Mojo decided to make his debut—and, like his physically stubborn mother, he did not want to enter the world without an added challenge. He came out fists-up, pressed against his face, making delivery far more difficult and physically demanding for his birthing mother (and extremely anxiety-inducing for the non-birthing one).

A small anecdote here: Morgan was especially motivated to get this baby moving once the doctor mentioned the word forceps. Mojo was having a hard time progressing, and at one point his heart rate dipped. We were told he needed to come out now, or other measures would have to be considered. Less than three pushes later, Mojo made his grand entrance.

One thing no one adequately prepared me for: there is a lot of blood. Like… way more than I expected. About 45 minutes into the 1.5-hour pushing phase, I was genuinely convinced something was wrong with Morgan.

Turns out—completely normal.

And then, just as intensely as it began, it was over.

Mojo was wrapped up and placed on Morgan’s chest for skin-to-skin and his first feeding. I was overwhelmed with gratitude and pride, witnessing what I truly believe is one of—if not the—hardest things a human can do.

Now, let’s talk about the experience as a whole: delivering a baby in a military hospital, as an LGBTQ+ couple.

You might assume we’d be met with hesitation. Or discomfort. Or quiet avoidance.

That couldn’t be further from our experience.

From the moment we walked in, the OBGYN facility was filled with visible pro-LGBTQ+ and ally decor. And while there aren’t many couples on this island who look like us, every single staff member—nurses, doctors, everyone—went out of their way to make us feel safe, respected, and genuinely welcome.

It mattered more than I can put into words.

Bringing Mojo home was its own kind of magic. Holding him in the space we created—finally together, finally settled—felt healing. Necessary. Like exhaling after holding our breath for months.

The days that followed were soft and blurry: little sleep, meticulous note-taking, quiet moments layered with chaos. We soaked it all in—the calm, the overwhelm, the beauty of becoming mothers in real time.

Those first weeks somehow flew by while standing completely still. Our relationship began to shift, gently but noticeably, as we learned how to hold space for each other in this new season.

One thing we were completely unprepared for was the shift that unfolded in our relationship over the days and weeks that followed. We knew adding a baby would bring its own set of challenges, but we didn’t fully understand how deeply it would transform us.

Things were… hard. Sleep deprivation, overexertion, and questioning every single decision added up quickly. At one point, it felt like a hierarchy of care had formed: I took care of Morgan, and Morgan took care of Mojo. Looking back, that shift makes complete sense—it’s natural, even necessary in those early days.

But at the time, it felt like distance. Like my role had quietly shifted away from motherhood and toward running the household, managing the bigger picture, and holding everything together. It’s something I unpack more deeply in The Sarah Update, but it’s an important part of this story, too.

We’re finding our rhythm slowly, imperfectly, and together. Learning when to step forward, when to soften, and how to keep choosing each other while becoming parents. This chapter is still unfolding.